65
now we both live in new York, and while we are only a short
subway ride away from each other, she is the only one of the
group with whom i have lost touch. Still, i have wonderful mem-
ories of her. once, when were eight, we sat on the floor next to
my four-poster brass bed, leaning on my hot pink beanbag, and
somehow our conversation led to the confession that
each of us felt somehow special.
“Chosen,” i offered.
“Yeah,” said Elizabeth, brightening.
During college, we studied together in England,
traveled in italy, and took trips to visit her aunt’s
antebellum mansion in Kentucky, where we wrote
our names in an ancient layer of dust on a mirror in
the haunted attic. whenever we wanted to commu-
nicate something for no ears but our own, we used
the code “chosen.”
while writing this article i reconnected with Eliz-
abeth, who spent the summer working for the Amer-
ican Civil Liberties union and was about to start her
third year of law school at Fordham university. After
graduating from the university of pennsylvania, she
had spent four years living in Quito, Ecuador, where
she worked for indigenous rights and environmental conserva-
tion and participated in social and political organizing. Latin
America was a proving ground for Elizabeth’s political passions.
“it changed my whole view of the world and of who i wanted
to be,” she says. For the first time, “i experienced happiness in a
different, much more profound way. i saw that people with so
much less were so much happier, through family and their own
work, not through a career set on making money.”
Though her mom urged her to come home so she could begin
building a career, Elizabeth says, “i stayed for four years because
i was at peace there, and i was terrified that if i came home i
was going to lose that. i finally came home when the peace had
become part of me, a place in my mind.”
unlike many of her law school classmates who are champing
at the bit to practice in the corporate world, her focus is pub-
lic interest law. Last year, she took a fieldwork trip to Cambodia
with the walter Leitner international Human rights Clinic at
Fordham Law. She contributed to a project researching forced
eviction and resettlement in Cambodia, interviewing families
who were the victims of forced eviction by the government and
trapped in miserable living conditions.
Me: The writer
“You’ve always been a writer,” Vanessa reminds me. “You always
had lots of ideas flowing through your little head,” says Jill.
The summer before our freshman year of college, Jill, Lizzi,
and i got together for a road trip to Starved rock, illinois, where
we camped and hiked, surrounded by cornfields. The day it
rained, i bought an old Smith Corona typewriter at a garage sale
and we spent an afternoon typing our collective story at the local
BeeHive restaurant until the waitress asked us to leave because
the sound of the keys was irritating the other customers.
our friendship was strongest in middle school, and while we
grew apart during high school with the arrival of a new cast of
characters, most of us re-
kindled our friendship in our
early twenties. But it is the
early time the five of us spent
together that continues to live
on and inform the way we see
ourselves and our capacity as
individuals to shape our desti-
nies and change the world.
“one thing that has struck
me as lasting is our creativ-
ity,” says Lizzi. “we were very
crafty. it was clear which of
us were more artistically in-
clined, but nobody ever said,
‘oh, i can’t do this.’ it boosted
our confidence that we could
do something beautiful in the world.”
“i was thinking it would be fun if we had a reunion,” confesses
Vanessa. when i tell her that, at first, i hadn’t heard back from
everyone for this story, she hastens to add, “But i don’t know...”
our relationships over the years have not always been blissful.
Secret jealousies and hurt feelings go back years. But, slowly, ev-
eryone came together, each one’s memories setting off the next.
Drifting off to sleep after a day of writing, i remember how
Lizzi would make us utter the incantation “open Sesame” be-
fore entering a wooded area in her backyard. now seeking out
our spiritual beginnings, searching for seeds sown when we were
young, i think that perhaps the treasure i am after is in a cave, the
mouth of which is sealed by magic and memories. ♦
SHAMBHALA SUN JANUARY 2010
clined, but nobody ever said,
‘oh, i can’t do this.’ it boosted
Lily
Elizabeth